


For A Minute

by Lumiel_lightbringer



Series: Brothers (Lucifer & Michael) [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Archangels, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer (Supernatural) in the Cage, Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural) in Lucifer's Cage, Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 21:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21381205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumiel_lightbringer/pseuds/Lumiel_lightbringer
Summary: Lucifer molts and Michael takes care of him.(No smut, no slash. Idc if they're angels they're still brothers and I'm not from Alabama.)
Relationships: Lucifer & Michael (Supernatural)
Series: Brothers (Lucifer & Michael) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1452049
Kudos: 30





	For A Minute

~

The frigid temperature in the Cage rises, a quick wave of burning warmth flowing off of one of the archangels.

Lucifer lets out a load moan, his wings spreading out further and his back arching.

He's been through Hell more times than the average... Well, really, than anything or anyone definitely ever.

But this?

This is a new level of torment.

Michael eyes his little brother worriedly.

It is hard for the oldest to come out of a nightmare-induced trance, but the sudden boiling temperature did it easily.

Lucifer keeps his eyes on anything, anywhere but Michael.

Staring at the ground, the walls, the ceiling, his feet, his wings, even peering out the cracks between the woven metal and into the deep crimson reaches of Hell.

Michael already knows what going on.

It'd take an idiot [1] to now figure it out by now.

Another whimper escapes Lucifer's lips, and he curls in on himself, only to pull back away and stretch out again.

"Brother." Michael speaks before his mind can register it.

Lucifer shoots Michael a hard glare, black wings spreading out in a warning gesture.

"What?" He snaps, voice cutting sharply through the deafening silence and past the booming voices in his mind.

"You are molting." Michael mumbles, nodding to his wings.

Lucifer curls the charred feathers in, covering his face but failing to hide the wings - it was one or the other, and Lucifer wasn't sure which idea he hated more; Michael seeing his beautiful - albeit maimed - wings in such a state, or Michael seeing him so embarrassed.

The discomfort the younger archangel feels is almost as bad as his unstable temperature.

Two ideas form in Michael's mind; Stay where you are, he doesn't like you, you don't like him, it'll be awkward and make everything worse; Or, Go over and try to calm him down, maybe make him hate you less, it'll be a nice gesture, hopefully you won't fuck it up.

It takes a long time for Michael to make his decision; after all, the Cage was influencing him as well.

True, he hasn't been in the cell for nearly as long as Lucifer, and, thankfully, hasn't gone completely insane, but that isn't to say his never-been-punished-in-his-life innocent mind stayed in perfect condition in the millennium they have been trapped down there together.

Finally making his decision - after a long internal battle with the two voices in his head [2], Michael stands up and crosses the length of the Cage, taking a seat beside him, despite Lucifer's whining.

The Devil cries out and tries to move away, only for Michael to stop him in a single movement.

The older unfolds his own, pearlescent wings and wraps them around the two, embracing Lucifer in a gentle hug.

"Not gonna hurt you." Michael murmurs, holding him with both wings and arms, but being careful not to use to tight of a grip - Lucifer is rather unstable, and even a millimetre too close contact and he could erupt into a ball of fiery Rage [3].

Lucifer curls up on himself, red tinted feathers falling off the dried bone.

Michael stares at the blood-tipped wings, worriedly. The questions of when and how don't seem nearly as important to Michael as the one of who's blood is that, Lucifer?

He doesn't ask, of course. His wings have been like that since the Rebellion, but the blood looks fresh, so he must assume that, at least some, is his own.

That both reassures and concerns Michael the same amount.

"Hurts..." Lucifer moans, arching his back against the aching pain traveling through his wings and down his spine to his hips.

Heat radiates off of him in unstable waves; from colds more frigid than the Cage's natural state to a boiling hot higher than the stars.

Michael forces his barely corporeal form to not react [4], for Lucifer's sake. If he thinks he is hurting him, it could have one of two effects - and Michael does not need Lucifer having either.

Then, Lucifer shocks him, burying his face into Michael's kind-of-there robes.

"Oh, dear." Michael sighs, taking in the pitiful sight of his little sibling. He hasn't seen him like this in a very long time. That is not to say, though, that he does not remember how to take care of him, or that he doesn't want to help.

"It's alright," Murmurs the oldest, pressing a hand to the back of Lucifer's head, carding through his blonde hair. Currently, Lucifer's being remains in an uncomfortable state in between his old vessel, Nick, and the corporation he made back when he was an archangel in Heaven.

Michael is stuck in a similar situation, between Adam, the younger John Winchester, and the form he usually preferred while Upstairs [5].

"Doesn't feel nice." Lucifer mumbles, voice muffled past the fabric.

"I know. I know." Michael pets his hair with one hand, the other wrapped around the run up and down his back, in between the blades of his flight wings.

Another temperature drops nearly startles Michael, but he keeps it together, settling for breathing out slowly as his Grace trembles in an attempt to warm up.

"You have a fever..." Michael murmurs, feeling Lucifer's body burn red hot.

It was a problem in Heaven, too. Lucifer was always the brightest angel, but whenever he was molting, his temperature would fluctuate into uncomfortably hot or painfully cold, causing the air around him to go the opposite direction. Sometimes, it got so bad he would have to stay alone in his room the entire week [6].

"Ngk. Too much. Too fucking much, Michael." Lucifer all but sobs out, ice beginning to creep up the walls of the Cage.

"I know... I know..." Michael places his chin on Lucifer's head. Blue primary wings tighten around them; two other, smaller wings covering their heads and two scooping Lucifer off the frozen ground.

"Hush, little one." Lucifer quiets a little, moaning in the back of his throat against the bundles of sensations rock through him.

From the gentle - though not merciful - ache down his spine, the cramping pain in his stomach, and the disgusting amount of arousal in his wings and... Well. You know.

"Make it stop!" He croaks out, and Michael's heart breaks.

"I can't, honey, I can't." He murmurs, a gentle hand stroking his hair. It goes down to his neck, underneath the nearly burnt off head wings that are more one than anything else.

With a second of sitting there, letting Lucifer understand what is going on - surprising the Devil is always a bad idea - Michael bears down on the pressure points below the connecting joints.

Lucifer lets out a loud cry, before melting into the older's arms.

Michael's left hand strays down to his back, doing the same to the corresponding primary wing on his back. Massaging both points under the wings, Michael begins to sing, softly, to the younger.

It's an old song, older than Time itself, but one the oldest archangels know well.

One Michael would sing to a fledgling Lucifer, and one Lucifer would sing to Raphael, and Raphael to Gabriel.

The same song Raphael and Gabriel sang to the stars while creating them, and the same song Lucifer sang to the Earth while crafting the rolling hills, towering mountains, and deep seas.

A song of love, a song of peace, a song of safety.

The warm, gentle melody calms frayed nerves, the bright lyrics filling any who hear it with happiness, calmness.

Michael's voice fills the Cage, and rings past the walls, seeping into the reaches of Hell.

The screams and cries surrounding them fall quiet, the maniacal laughter silencing to hear the First Archangel's song.

Lucifer feels his eyelids grow heavy; his body warming into a normal temperature, and his being relaxing inside the corporation.

The Cage feels a little less scary, and Hell seems slightly less painful.

For a minute, or maybe two, Lucifer no longer feels like the hated, disgusting creature the humans labeled 'Devil'.

For two minutes, or maybe three, Lucifer feels cared for; loved.

For three minutes, or maybe four, Lucifer feels safe.

For a few seconds, or maybe a minute, Lumiel is in Heaven.

The world disappears around them, the younger archangel falling asleep in Michael's gentle hold.

The song fades into nothing, and the realm is silent.

Then, the sounds pick up once more, and Michael lets himself fall back into a trance.

* * *

[1] Or a human.

[2] Two imaginary voices might seem like a lot to a neurotypical human being who has never endured any form of trauma, major distress, or suffered from any form of- even minor- mental injury, but compared to Lucifer, Michael is the posterboy for healthy minds everywhere.

[3] Yes, the capital 'R' is quite necessary.

[4] It takes quite a bit of Grace to do so, but Michael is willing to burn himself out for his little brother, no matter where they are, no matter what he has become.

[5] Which, oddly enough, looks rather similar to that same version of John Winchester, but taller, with lighter hair, and royal blue eyes.

[6] Well, relatively 'alone'. Michael would never let his younger sibling suffer in silence for that long.


End file.
